


born in grief, raised in hate

by idrilhadhafang



Series: Sequel Trilogy Missing Scenes [18]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anakin Is Palpatine’s Son, Child by Rape, Childbirth, Dark, Date Rape, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Evil Palpatine, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Forced Pregnancy, Manipulative Sheev Palpatine, Pre-Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, Psychological Horror, Shmi Skywalker Needs A Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29276976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idrilhadhafang/pseuds/idrilhadhafang
Summary: How was Anakin Skywalker conceived?
Relationships: Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious/Shmi Skywalker
Series: Sequel Trilogy Missing Scenes [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931056
Kudos: 9
Collections: Bad Day Collection, Trope Bingo: Round Sixteen





	born in grief, raised in hate

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Dark Fic
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.
> 
> Warnings: Rape/non-con
> 
> Author’s Notes: This isn’t my usual, but I figured that I’d write it thanks to a certain group of people failing to recognize that impregnating someone through the Force without their willing, enthusiastic, knowing consent is rape.
> 
> Title from “One of Us” from The Lion King 2.

The day that the Dark Man came to Tatooine, Shmi Skywalker was twenty years old and he was an old man.   
  
She was a slave on Tatooine; he was very much the type that lived to enslave others. If others asked why Sheev Palpatine, a.k.a. Darth Sidious, did anything, the answer was because it made him happy.  
  
***  
  
That was at least something that Sidious had known since he was a boy, at least. The medics had said something about an antisocial personality, about something involving a lack of proper serotonin or something like that — it didn’t matter. When he did things, it was mostly because it was so very kriffing fun. Plagueis was intelligent, revolutionary without a doubt, but he had too many self-imposed limitations. Too much of a _code._ He had been talking about manipulating midichlorians for a while, to prolong life...or to create it.   
  
He had taught Sidious much, that Sidious knew. Preserving people for a prolonged period of time. Sidious could remember, quite vividly, Plagueis preserving a burn victim through manipulating the midichlorians in his body, just enough to keep him alive. No matter how the victim pleaded, Plagueis kept him alive. An outsider would have called it torture. To Sidious, it was perfect.  
  
He had been hungry to learn more. He’d searched, of course, for the right being. Being, because anyone with a uterus would do.   
  
_“Any coward can commit the act of violating another being,”_ Plagueis had said. _“It takes more to convince them to your side, to accept them willingly.”_  
  
Whatever the cost, the Sith needed a Chosen One. One to finally triumph over the Jedi, to lead them to victory. Sidious was strong in the Force, but this was different. Someone had to all but be birthed by the midichlorians themselves to contain that much power.   
  
Tatooine was a nothing backwater planet, an insignificant speck that would have ordinarily been beneath Sidious' notice. But this presence he had felt...this would be a perfect way to prove Plagueis wrong. That he was the superior one.   
  
***  
  
When Shmi greeted the Dark Man, he had talked about needing his ship repaired and landing on Tatooine for it. She did find him a bit odd, the black hood that covered his eyes and upper half of his face. Was it protection against the winds? Black was an awfully counterproductive color to wear in a desert.   
  
Still, Shmi was a fundamentally kind soul, and she wasn’t about to turn away someone in need. That was Shmi’s nature: kind to everyone, even the masters who treated her terribly and the slaves who lashed out at her verbally and physically because they were miserable too.   
  
(Shmi was Sidious’ opposite, an outsider would say: trusting where he exploited the trust of others, kind and giving where he was cruel)  
  
And he had seemed kind to her as well. Shmi had gone too long being kind while receiving nothing in return.   
  
“There is a way,” he said to her. Shmi did wonder, occasionally, what it was like to read his eyes under the black hood. “There is an order I am part of; you could call me a diplomat for them, of sorts. But they could reform Tatooine. Slavery would just be an ugly stain on its past.”  
  
“If you’re talking about the Republic, it doesn’t exist out there,” Shmi said. “All we have to do is survive.”  
  
“It,” said the Dark Man, “Will not always be that way."  
  
***  
  
Something in her drink, in her ruby bliel, had made her feel faint. It was barely distinguishable from the rest of the drink, but it had been easy for Shmi to feel like the room was becoming hazy before her eyes.   
  
The Dark Man caught her when she fell. When she passed out. She wasn’t cognizant of the fact she was carried upstairs, that she was laid on the bed.   
  
She was cognizant of her nightmares. The shadow in her nightmares did not kiss her, but tore away her slave clothes with fingers like talons, and sank its teeth into her like a wild beast. It alternated between aggressor and manipulator, but it exploited her body.   
  
Shmi tried. Struggled. Tried to reason with the shadow.   
  
It did not listen. Fingers stroked and penetrated, the pain of the penetration too real for a dream. Fingers, then something that felt like a phallus, then...  
  
Shmi woke with her unwanted, confusing orgasm ripping through her, her body spasming on the bed. Her clothes were intact, and other than the confusing dampness between her legs, the aftermath of her sleep orgasm (she would assume, though why would she come just from a nightmare about being raped, she wondered. What had happened? The Dark Man was gone also)...nothing was wrong. Even changing her clothes, confused and feeling dirty and wondering how much of it was a hallucination brought on by whatever was slipped in that ruby bliel...  
  
There were no bites. No scratches.   
  
It was just a nightmare, she thought. She would never drink ruby bliels again, she knew that.   
  
***  
  
It was only later she learned of the pregnancy.   
  
It made no sense. It was just a nightmare. Had...  
  
The idea was too horrifying for Shmi to consider. Had her rape nightmare been nothing more than a nightmare? Nightmares didn’t cause pregnancy. It wasn’t how it worked.   
  
She couldn’t bring herself to abort the baby. But she did wonder, absently, about the missing pieces that her mind couldn’t quite recover.   
  
***  
  
The Shadow returned in her nightmare, when she was nine months into the pregnancy. “We’ll name him Anakin,” it rumbled, in a voice that sounded not of this galaxy. “He will be a piece of both of us.”  
  
“More of me than of you,” Shmi said. Softly, defiant nonetheless. The child was innocent, her Anakin. He didn’t ask to be conceived in brutality — assuming that was what happened. Assuming it wasn’t just a nightmare brought on by the uncertainty and panic in her pregnancy.   
  
The Shadow smiled, almost shark-like. “He will come to love me,” it said. “He will come to call me ‘Father’. You will lose him, Shmi Skywalker. You will lose everything.”  
  
***  
  
Anakin was born. He was a squalling, naked, imperfect mess, but Shmi swore she’d fight shadows to keep him safe — even as she swore she heard the Shadow laughing.


End file.
